Twelve Straight Men and A Lamppost
by Haleine Delail
Summary: A local mystery has the Doctor intrigued.  An ordinary lamppost seems to be causing car accidents, but even with Jack's help, he can't find anything useful to connect the incidents.  Could the answer lie not with the lamppost, somewhere in the scenery?


**This is a strange little oneshot fic that was ever so much fun to write! There's no Martha, but I hope you enjoy it!**

**P.S. Please don't be offended by the character of Cullen. He's a bit of an obnoxious walking stereotype, but there's a good reason for it!**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

**TWELVE STRAIGHT MEN AND A LAMPPOST**

A coffee shop in a sleepy residential section of London. Sitting with an espresso and a newspaper, reading about how wrong all the so-called "experts" were with their predictions for politics, economy, and entertainment was one of his fondest pastimes, when he had half a day to spare. Which was almost never. Well, that and watching the migration of the Swalden Melcayde birds from their home to a neighbouring planet during Gelspedds mating season, but that wasn't for another four months, and he didn't want to cheat.

He broke off a corner of blueberry scone, which was sharing a saucer with his demitasse, and shoved it in his mouth. He passed by a woman sitting in a comfy orange armchair reading a bit of trashy celebrity gossip. He glanced over her shoulder. "What?" he said aloud, through a mouthful. "Those two? It'll never last."

"Pardon me?" she asked, a little astonished at the cheeky stranger.

He swallowed the bit of scone. "She's eventually going to start canoodling with the pool boy, and he'll start up a thing with the nanny. Although, between you and me, the nanny's a beard. Let's just say the pool boy will be mucking out _both_ ends of the pool."

The Doctor fluttered his eyebrows at the nonplussed Londoner, and went to grab himself a table. He fanned his long coat out behind him and sat, pretending not to notice when the woman huffed and puffed and stomped, annoyed, out of the establishment.

He was just settling into an article about the U.S. Presidential election, predicting a surprise victory for John McCain, and scoffing, when a voice chirped on the other side of his paper. "Hello."

Whoa.

For almost any man on Earth, she'd have been the type to knock him right out of his chair and onto the floor.

He was a man (more or less). And he was on Earth. He managed to stay in his chair, though.

The blonde hair won him over first. He did like the blondes. Thick, wiry, shiny individual curls that seemed sculpted from honey and corn silk. Next, he registered clear blue eyes, the kind that literally sparkled when she smiled. Her skin was like porcelain, her lips, adorned in Perfect Pink, were as though chiselled from a mold. She was wearing a turquoise blue top that could have been painted on, for all the difference it made. Her cleavage was ripe and supple, but not overstated, and as she waited for a reply, she smirked a bit, showing perfect teeth, so white, they were almost blue. She wasn't just beautiful. She was shiny, new, spectacular like Christmas.

"Hi," he replied, after a quick assessment and a huge gulp.

"What are you reading?"

"U.S. Election. John McCain. It's rubbish. The other guy will win. Who are you?"

She chuckled. "Morwenna." She reached across the table to shake hands.

The Doctor put his newspaper properly down, and met her halfway with a handshake. "I've never seen you in here before," she said. "Must be new in town."

"Ah, well, I sort of come and go," he replied. "You? Come here often?"

"All the time, yeah," she said. "I just live a few streets over. It's my afternoon haunt, for when I get out of class."

"What are you studying?"

"Paleo-botany, I'm on a Master's course," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Okay, go ahead. Pretend to be interested."

He smiled. "I _am_ interested," he told her. "I can honestly say I've never met a human being who knows as much as I do about paleo-botany."

"Well, there's a first time for everything. Don't worry, I won't bore you with the details."

"So…" he stuck out his bottom lip. "What can I do for you, Morwenna?"

"You can take me out sometime."

His eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"You know, a drink, dancing, the cinema," she shrugged. "Fancy it?"

"We… wo… I…listen…"

"Hey, if you're not interested, we could just skip all that rubbish and go back to mine for a shag," she said. She glanced at her watch. "I've got some time now, before I have to pick up my dog."

His jaw dropped open, and he nearly choked on whatever words he had. She started laughing before he had a chance to set about stuttering again, and he gave up and laughed with her. "You don't mince words, do you?"

"Come on, it's a joke," she said. "Well, mostly. But seriously, if you don't want to, then it's fine. I just thought I'd ask."

"It's not that I'm not interested," he said. "It's just, I'm…"

"Gay?"

He smiled again, softly this time. "No. Someone just recently… well, left me… and I'm… it's a long story."

"Ah. Say no more," she said. "I'm sorry for you. But if and when you change your mind, I'll give you my number."

She dug in her bag, and emerged with a pen and a beat-up business card. She jotted down her phone number and handed it to him, with a friendly goodbye. She stood up, and before walking away, she turned to him with a smile and said, "But you do like women, right?"

"Yes."

"Sorry, it's just that so many of the ones with good hair are playing on the other pitch."

He chuckled. "So it would seem. But not me. I've got other issues. Whole different sport, really."

She didn't say anything, only smiled mischievously and walked away. When she did, her stride would have made him call her back, if he hadn't been strangled by it. If her face and breasts were perfection, they'd have to come up with a whole new word to describe her legs and bottom.

He watched her go, just like every other man in the joint. The difference was, when she was gone, all of their eyes shifted to him, and there was a collective scowl directed at the well-dressed stranger to whom everyone had seen Morwenna give her number. The Doctor sniffed uncomfortably as he pushed the little card into his breast pocket, shrugged at some of the gawkers, and turned back to his paper.

But when he turned, someone had taken Morwenna's place. "Hello."

The Doctor jumped.

This time it was a bloke.

"Blimey, are you people all walking on cotton feet?" the Doctor asked.

"That was Morwenna," the bloke said, his hands clasped on the table daintily in front of him.

"Er, I know," the Doctor replied.

Even before the guy had opened his mouth, the Doctor could have guessed which pitch he was playing on, but the voice confirmed it. He was perhaps twenty, twenty-five at the most, and very, very effeminate. He wore earrings with Celtic symbols, eyeliner, mascara, foundation, black nail polish, and his eye teeth had been filed into fangs.

"I work here. I'm a barista. My name is Cullen," the guy said, holding his hand out, turned down, as though to be kissed.

The Doctor didn't kiss it. "Sure it is," he said.

The bloke called Cullen withdrew his hand sheepishly, and pursed his lips. "I'll admit, Cullen is a guise, it's not who I am. It's an homage," he said. Then, he suddenly slipped into giddyness. "Official U.S. release date 21st November, 2008, less than a month, thank you very much!"

"You don't say."

Cullen shook off the giddyness and got serious again. "You turned her down. Everyone thinks you're insane. Or you're gay."

The Doctor glanced around the room. All the other guys had gone back to their books, laptops, homework and the like. "Everyone is wrong."

"I know. I can tell."

"You can tell I'm not insane?"

"No, the other thing."

"Oh. Okay." The Doctor cleared his throat and crossed his arms.

"Sorry, Stallion," Cullen said, squinting his nose. "Didn't come here to chat you up."

"Then why did you?"

"I saw you a week ago, showing your badge to Mr. Pappas, the dry cleaner," Cullen said. "I know you're a copper."

"You saw that, eh?" the Doctor asked. He didn't remember Mr. Pappas at all, but then, the life of a time-traveller is a strange one indeed. "You've got me, then. What's on your mind?"

"The lamppost."

The Doctor waited, but Cullen's dramatic pause (and pose) did not abate. He closed his eyes for a second, and then said, "Sorry, mate, I'm gonna need a little more to go on."

Cullen rolled his eyes and groaned. He said "Come on, then," and grabbed the Doctor's hand, dragging him out of the coffee shop.

* * *

Around the corner, there was an old-fashioned auto mechanic's shop, one of a dying breed.

"Oi, Mark," a rotund, grey-overall-clad mechanic said, coming out the side door, wiping his hands on a rag. "Twice in one day. To what do I owe this honour?"

"It's Cullen now, as I've told you _several _times," Cullen insisted dramatically. "Anyway, Oliver, this is…"

"John Smith. Detective. Er, Detective Sergeant." He flashed the psychic paper. He still had no idea why he was here, but he had nothing better to do. Well, there was that blueberry scone and an unfinished espresso, but those things could be replaced.

Cullen jumped back in. "John Smith, this is Oliver Mason. He orders an Earl Grey with lemon for himself, and a double lattè for his assistant Maury every a.m. I'm their delivery boy. And their favourite barista."

"Maury says he makes the best double lattè in town," said Oliver to the Doctor. To Cullen, he said, "And I still want to fix you up with my nephew. When are you going to drop that deadbeat, the one with high hopes for his band?"

"When he pays me the four hundred quid he owes me, Oliver. I can't just _leave_."

"Yeah, well, you deserve better, Mark. My nephew… he's got a steady job, a flat, and he don't smoke."

"But what are his measurements?" Cullen giggled. "Let's get our priorities in order."

The Doctor sighed. "Gentlemen, why am I here?"

"Oh, Oliver, tell John Smith what you told me."

"Mark, we've been over this, it's just a coincidence."

"Mr. Mason," the Doctor said. "I find that there are very few genuine coincidences in life. I've learned that in my… police work. What's going on?"

"Come look."

He led them in, showing them three different cars, of different makes, models, colours, years, and luxury quality. But they all had identical body damage. On all three, the front grill and hood had been bashed in at a fairly acute angle.

"Hm. Same sort of damage," the Doctor said bending to take a closer look.

"Same sort of damage," Oliver said. "Same bloody lamppost."

"All three of these crashed into the same exact lamppost?" the Doctor asked, rather surprised.

"Yeah. And all of them at ten past nine in the morning. And that's not all. These cars here are numbers ten, eleven and twelve, just since July!"

"The same big dent from the same lamppost at the same time of day, twelve different cars, over the last three months?"

"Yep. And those are just the ones who've brought their cars into _my_ shop. God only knows how many others there are."

The Doctor furrowed. It probably didn't mean the planet was at stake, but it was a weird enough anomaly to grab his attention. "Blimey," he muttered. "Okay, can you give me the names of all the people who own the cars you've fixed, and who was driving at the time of the crash?"

"Sure thing," Oliver said, turning to make his way to his office.

"And Cullen, you'll show me the lamppost."

"Sure thing," Cullen replied, saluting and winking.

* * *

With the list of the drivers in his pocket, the Doctor stood on a street corner, four blocks away from the coffee shop, looking up and down at an ordinary lamppost. Ordinary, except for the odd scratch of paint from the various auto calamities that had taken place here over the last three months.

"I feel silly just looking up at this thing," Cullen complained. "Can we go?"

"You can," the Doctor said. "I still don't know what I came here to find out. And aren't you the one who wanted me here?"

Cullen sighed heavily, and crossed his arms, leaning against the white brick building behind him, striking a pose.

The Doctor looked at him. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"Oh, fiddlesticks!" Cullen shouted. "Bye! Come see me when you know what's up." He ran across the street and disappeared around a curve.

"Yeah."

The Doctor ran the sonic up and down the lamppost and found nothing unusual. He began walking backwards from the lamppost, the sonic screwdriver buzzing in his hand, pointed down. He suspected that whatever was causing the accidents had to do with an electromagnetic field. The lamppost was metal, cars were metal… _something_ had to be attracting the two, and the electricity ran through the ground.

About twenty feet from the post, the screwdriver's sonic pitch went up, and the Doctor knew he'd hit upon something. Some blob of some kind of activity was hiding beneath the pavement, but without a pickaxe (and getting mightily harrassed by the real police) there was only one way to find out what it was.

He walked the five blocks back to where he'd parked the TARDIS, and moved it to that spot, twenty feet from the lamppost. It took some manoeuvring, but he was able, finally to get close enough for the TARDIS' instruments to tell him what lurked beneath the cement.

When he saw the readout, his eyebrows went up, and he said to no-one, "Hunh!"

* * *

Things like this he was good at handling on his own, but the Doctor was never a man too proud to ask for help when it could make life easier. Or to use a friend's mobile phone when it was convenient.

"Hi Jack, it's me."

"Hey, what's shakin' Doc?"

"Er… I have a thing. I could use you."

"You don't know how long I've waited to hear you say those words."

"Blimey, what is it with people today? Just stand still. I'll come get you – are you free?"

"My people are working on a hitchhiker thing, they can handle it. Why not?"

* * *

While Jack shut down his office computer, looked for his coat, found his keys and made sure his crew was doing all right, he and the Doctor made small talk.

"So, how's your day been?" Jack asked. It was one of those questions to which, after asking it, no-one ever really listened to the answer, unless the answer came back really interesting.

"Oh, you know," the Doctor sighed. "Had an espresso, read the paper, got chatted up." Although, as soon as it was out of his mouth, he sort of regretted going down the 'guy talk' road with Jack Harkness.

"Cool. By a human?"

"Actually, a goddess," the Doctor said, furrowing. "Ugh, did I just say that out loud?"

"Yes, I'm so proud! So, what did she say?"

"She just wanted to go out sometime," the Doctor shrugged.

"So, what excuse did you make up not to go out with her?" Jack asked sardonically, knowing his lonely friend all too well.

"It wasn't an excuse. It was the truth. Someone left me recently, and I'm not ready," the Doctor told Jack, almost righteously.

"Not ready for a relationship?"

"Well…"

"Not ready for another travelling companion?"

"I just lost pretty much everyone I care about," the Doctor said. "You're here and Martha's still in London, but Donna's out of commission for good, and Rose is… happy, I hope. And trapped. Again."

"Doctor, you don't have to take her on the road with you or trust her with your life. Just go get laid like a normal guy. What's wrong with that?"

The Doctor sighed. "Nothing, I guess."

"Did she give you her number?"

"Yeah."

"Well?"

"Let's just go."

* * *

The Doctor fired up the console and prepared to move from Cardiff back to London. Jack stood by, arms crossed, legs apart, prepared for the usual bumpy departure. Briefly, the Doctor summed up the situation with the twelve cars, the lamppost and the hidden pocket of energy under the concrete.

"According to the trusty TARDIS' instruments, it's a weird extension of the spatial-temporal rift in Cardiff," the Doctor said. "Or at least it's made of the same stuff."

"Interesting. What do you want me to do?"

"Well, you've dealt with the rift a lot, and I'm going to need a second set of eyes," the Doctor told him. "I'm going to do background checks and interview all of the people who were driving when the cars crashed, I'd like to examine the vehicles, maybe get at the electrical grid for that part of the city, and even stake out the corner at ten past nine, for a few days. I want you to keep your eyes open for any familiar rifty...ness. See if you recognise any residue, markers, any indicators of stuff you've seen come through the rift before, especially anything anomalous..."

"Eyes open for riftyness. Gotcha."

"Odds are, weirdly, that you'll see it before I do, in this case."

"Well, I'll not take that bet, but I'm glad you called me anyway. When was the last time we did anything just the two of us?"

"Radioactive rocket fuel boosters."

Jack said. "Good times."

"Ah, yeah. Where do the days go?"

* * *

"Hi, John Smith," said Cullen. "What news?"

"Nothing much yet," the Doctor told him. "I don't suppose you saved my scone."

"I sure did, but I had to throw away your sludgy coffee. I'll bring you a new one if you introduce me to your friend."

The Doctor sighed. Again. "Cullen, this is Jack Harkness. Jack, Cullen."

Jack gave a half-hearted salute, while Cullen began to drool.

"Cullen, do you have a laptop we could use?" asked the Doctor.

"Yeah, no problem," the barista said. "Are you going to use it for background checks on those drivers?"

"Yep."

"Okay. _Uno momento, por favor." _He disappeared through a swinging door toward the back of the coffee shop.

Jack and the Doctor took a table relatively near the counter. When Cullen emerged from the back room, he was carrying his laptop case, two coffees, the Doctor's partially-eaten scone, and a couple of lemon madeleines for Jack. "Here you go, boys."

"Thanks," the Doctor said.

"Meh. Don't mention it."

Jack pulled the laptop toward himself, saying he had government security clearance on some of the most comprehensive background check sites in the world.

As an afterthought, Cullen turned back, touched Jack on the shoulder and said, "Don't mind what's on my desktop. My partner hates it, however, fortunately, he and I are in a _truly_ unhappy state, and our relationship could _crumble to dust_ at any time." He smiled brightly and all but flounced away.

"Aw, that's sweet," said the Doctor. "But aren't you in a relationship?"

"Yeah, _that's_ what's wrong with this scenario. I'm seeing someone," Jack said, uncharacteristically icked-out by a come-on.

"Well, there's also the generation gap."

"Totally. Do you think I should tell him I'm a hundred and seventy years old, and I can't stand vampire movies?" Jack asked.

"I think it would only hurt him," the Doctor replied.

Jack turned on the laptop, and his eyes went momentarily wide. "Whoa," he said. "This kid just gets classier and classier. I didn't even know humans knew about that position in the twenty-first century. I was hoping to invent it in a hundred years or so, preferably with someone famous."

"Just find a website and let's never speak of this again."

* * *

"Other than the fact that they all live in the area, I can't work it out," the Doctor said, tugging deeply at his hair. "I thought we'd find some genetic thing that attracts them to the time energy, or a similar career background, maybe mining or military, perhaps something with computers or lasers which makes them more prone to... but nothing. I mean, there are similarities here and there, but nothing to connect them. What about you? See anything familiar?"

"Well, a couple of these people have roots in Cardiff, but that doesn't make any sense... A couple of them have worked at some point for the Royal Mail, but... yeah, I can't see the connection there. So far, I'm seeing none of the usual markers for rift activity. It's all too normal. There's no disappearances or mysterious re-appearances, no weird time stuff. Sometimes we see people that don't seem to age, or people out of their time, trapped on film, falling through in planes..."

The Doctor squinted at some notes he'd made, through the lenses of his glasses. "These people all seem to go to work, come home, have families, pensions, a few friends... three of them have arrest records for minor stuff, but that's it."

"All shapes and sizes, all colours, religious backgrounds, a few different countries of origin, ages, socio-economic status, sexes... wait, no. All male."

"Okay. Half the population of this planet is male, though."

"I know, but it's something to keep in mind. Also, all but one was in the car alone. That one was with his buddy, who also has no particular connection, no more than the others anyway. This is so weird."

* * *

"Here you go, Cullen," the Doctor said, handing back the laptop. "Thanks for that."

"_No problemmo._ Where are you boys headed now?"

"Back to Oliver's to inspect the cars."

"I'm coming with you," Cullen announced.

"Why?" Jack wanted to know.

"Because Oliver's my friend, and I'm not letting you two leave me behind on this," he said. "Especially now." He winked at Jack, who sighed with tedium, and the three of them left the coffee shop. On the way out, Cullen threw his apron over the counter.

The three guys walked into Oliver's shop rather unannounced, and Oliver just waved them into the garage to look as they liked. The Doctor wrote down the VINs of the three lamppost-damaged vehicles, then requested that information from the other cars that Oliver had repaired. He sat down at a desk which had a Betty Paige calendar hanging from the wall above, and stared at the list. Numbers, equations, patterns, recreational mathematics, coordinates, both for this planet and outer-galactic sources, numeric anagrams... he looked for them all. He arranged the numbers as a grid, as a cryptograph, in pairs. He arranged them in order of the cars' market value, of their colour, size, age and chronological order of the dates of their accidents.

"What's he doing?" asked Cullen.

"Mathemetising... or something. He's kind of a genius. Don't question the process," Jack whispered, his phone to his ear.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling my friend. Gwen? I need your help."

After half an hour, the Doctor announced, "I have zippo. Also known as nada. Well, I might have invented a new game involving happy prime stalemate integers, but that's another conversation for another day. The dents themselves all look relatively alike, but not so alike that it's like a carbon-copy, or a time imprint on that spot in the universe. It's something attracting the car to the post. Now is it the car, or the driver?"

The Doctor began to pace and talk to himself.

"Well, some good news," Jack said. "My friend Gwen arranged for us to use an interrogation room."

"Jack, these guys aren't in trouble, we just want to talk to them," the Doctor said. "Why do you Torchwood people have to walk round scaring everyone?"

"Can you think of a better way to get twelve men in a room, answering questions of strangers, without it being speed dating or pub quiz?"

* * *

Not only had Gwen convinced the police in London that her friends were from Scotland Yard, but she'd pulled strings to get officers to go out and search for the drivers, and haul them in as well.

The Doctor, Jack and Cullen (now off from work, and now, apparently, their new companion) took the tube to the police station. They showed their "credentials" and were led into a little room where they could look over the crop of interviewees before going in. Everyone knew these rooms had two-way mirrors, and they all felt a little funny looking in on that lot.

Twelve men sat nervously in the green panelled room making small talk.

"See, I was right," Jack said. "All shapes, sizes, ages, colours, national origins, religious backgrounds... I don't know. Cullen, do you see anything?"

Cullen scoffed. "Just a bunch of breeders. No offence," he said to the Doctor.

"None taken," the Doctor said. "I won't be breeding anytime soon."

"I hate that word, Cullen," Jack said. "You know, when you talk like that, it ruins it for the rest of us?"

"I'm sorry. Let's kiss and make up."

"Let's just get in there," the Doctor muttered. "Cullen, you're staying here."

* * *

The interview gleaned no particularly revelatory information. The Doctor and Jack asked them each about their backgrounds, work experience, travel experience, technology experience, and some of the same questions regarding their families. Many of the men were married, a few had girlfriends. One was widowed, a couple were divorced, and one just said he was unattached, but saving himself for Catherine Zeta-Jones.

"What did I tell you?" Cullen said when the two interrogators re-entered the little room. "All breeders."

"You know, he's got a point," Jack said. "Twelve guys in that room... not one of them gay? In London? In the twenty-first century? Statistically unlikely."

"Not impossible," the Doctor said.

"I didn't say impossible, just unlikely. Gays make up about ten per cent of the population in the west, maybe more in the big cities."

"Well, maybe it's just another factoid to hold onto," said the Doctor. "Twelve straight men and a lamppost."

* * *

Thanks to Cullen's need to get home for a date (not with his usual partner) and Jack's need for some "real" food, they wound up back in a pizza parlour, about a block from the lamppost. It was just the two of them again, poring over facts and figures.

"We've got spatial-temporal activity in a tiny patch that we can't even get to, and twelve individuals linked only by gender and sexual orientation," the Doctor groaned. He was sitting with his elbows on the table, his hands over his face, except for one eye exposed between an index and middle finger.

"Maybe we should go back to the cars," Jack suggested, chewing.

"Yeah, I suppose," said the Doctor, exhaling heavily. "Maybe we can trace the factories where they were made. Maybe there's temporal residue stuck on the metal, like void stuff, that just gets pulled back into the void. Or I suppose it could be the radios installed, but that just goes back to the electromagnetism theory, which I don't think is the case now... and that would only be true of satellite radios anyhow, which I'm pretty sure the 1996 Fiat doesn't have. Also, it wouldn't explain the gender thing, or the non-gay thing. Good, Doctor. Very helpful. Keep talking, really."

"Is there a hormone carried by straight guys that could be reacting with temporal residue, causing the car to go haywire?"

"Interesting thought," said the Doctor. "It's worth pursuing... especially if we get some weird results from the manufacturers. But I say we stake the place out first."

"Tomorrow morning at ten past nine?"

The Doctor nodded.

"I'll see if Gwen can get us a surveillance point," Jack said, climbing off his stool, wiping his mouth.

"Some CCTV footage wouldn't hurt either," the Doctor suggested.

"We'll see what we can do."

Jack went down the tight corridor that led to the toilets, in order to make the call. He'd been out of sight for about thirty seconds when the Doctor's eye was caught by something lovely.

Well, breathtaking, really.

This time, she was wearing a fluffy white winter coat, a pink and white striped stocking cap, a pink scarf, mittens, warm-up trousers and trainers. Even covered in late fall-gear from head to toe, and not smiling, she was just gorgeous. She turned a hundred heads as she entered.

She stopped at the counter and ordered something, paid the man and glanced in the Doctor's direction. She had been distracted when she walked in, clearly on an in-and-out mission, but when she saw him, she smiled and seemed much more inclined to shoot the breeze.

"Hi there," Morwenna said, crossing the maze of chairs and tables. "Coffee and pizza? It's a big day for you."

"Well, I just won an Oscar – celebrating," he said, winking at her. "Tomorrow it's back to beans out of the can."

"I hear that," she said. "This slice of pizza is a treat for me. I'm pulling an all-nighter with the books, and the pizza is my quarter-of-the-way-through reward. Halfway is ice cream, three quarters is potato crisps, and all the way is a good, solid, half hour's sleep. Oh yeah – that's the sweetest bit!"

"You've thought this through."

"Yes, I have," she said. "It works well for me. I do it every Tuesday night because Thursdays, I'm not in class until one in the afternoon, and I can go to bed at a normal time Wednesday night and sleep in."

He smiled at her rather goofily without saying anything.

She giggled uncomfortably, and said, "I know, I'm nerdy. I do everything at a certain time in a certain way." A pause, then she feigned a horrified expression and croaked out, "Or my family will die!"

They both laughed.

"Having routine doesn't make you nerdy, it makes you a little bit obsessive compulsive, but I wouldn't worry. Being a paleo-botany student makes you nerdy," he teased, smiling droopily at her.

She crossed her arms and put all her weight on one hip. "Are you _sure_ you wouldn't like to go out sometime soon? I think we could have so much fun."

"How about I ring you," he said. "We can talk some more – we'll call that our first date."

"I'll settle for it," she said. "It's better than the answer I got this morning!"

"Number eighty-one!" someone called out from behind the counter.

"Well, that's me," she said. "Back to the books, I guess."

"Good seeing you again," the Doctor said.

"You'd better call."

"I will."

She smiled and waved as she walked out the door with a tiny pizza box in her mittened hands.

The Doctor had taken one bite of pizza after that, when Jack came back.

"Okay," he said, crawling back upon the stool. "Gwen's people found an empty third-floor flat around the corner, where we can survey the area right around ten past nine. She's still working on the CCTV, though."

"Good. Morwenna was just here."

"Who's Morwenna? Oh, is that the goddess?"

"Yep."

"Ooh, what did she say this time?"

"Tried again to get me to take her out," the Doctor said. "I said I'd call."

"Oh! The kiss of death. _I'll call you_. It feels like you're getting the brush-off, even if you're not."

"I do intend to call," he said.

"What made you change your mind?"

"She did," the Doctor replied, without hesitation. "One look from her and I was fried. Blimey, did I say that out loud, too?"

"Yes, and I'm glad," Jack told him. "I knew you had it in you to be a normal guy. Get coffee, fool around with cars... now comes that other thing that normal guys do. You'll work up to it."

"Mm," the Doctor grunted. "I suppose. It _has_ been a while."

* * *

The following day, they surveyed the lamppost for one hour from the empty flat, starting at half-past eight. And the day after that, and the day after that. They saw nothing.

During the days and afternoons in-between, they took more readings from the energy blob, axed through the concrete under false pretences, and even tried to investigate the twelve men more.

They also talked a lot. The Doctor told Jack everything that had happened after he left them in the park the last time; letting his twin go with Rose, having to wipe Donna's memory and leave her off with her family, just a shadow of her former self.

"It made you feel like you never wanted to get that close to anyone again," Jack said while they were sitting in the empty flat by the window. "I get that. You loved Rose and lost her, so you couldn't get close to Martha in the same way, and that really hurt her. You had a completely different type of relationship with Donna, and lost her too, so now you're afraid of hurting anyone that would become your friend next."

"In a nutshell. You're very observant."

Jack pointed at his own head, and said, "Not just a very attractive hat rack, my friend."

The Doctor smiled appreciatively. "Very true."

There was a long silence, then Jack took a deep breath and said, "I worry about you, Doctor."

"I know you do. I worry about you."

"I just don't think you should be alone. Rose, Martha and Donna were all very different women, but they all knew the same greatest truth of you. You need someone."

"Yeah, I know. And I want someone."

"Why not have someone... and have a totally different kind of relationship. Something you didn't have with any of the other three. That I know of, anyway."

The Doctor scowled at Jack's insinuation. "Jack."

"What? Why do you get so squirmy about this? It's normal, and you deserve it."

"Because," the Doctor said. "Because... I don't know."

"Come on, you know from experience that one peek inside that TARDIS, and she's yours."

"Mine?"

"Yeah, I mean she'll want to come with you, to see what else is out there – you've seen it happen a thousand times, Doctor. And you know she wants to sleep with you already, so what's the problem?"

"I do?"

"Why else do people chat each other up? Just think about it: a few fun adventures, next thing you know it's the third date..."

"Just stop right there. I get it."

"Do you like her personality?"

"She's quite funny. A little anal-retentive, but that's okay."

"Is she clever?"

"Yes, and well-educated."

"Can she run?"

"I have no idea," the Doctor said. "We hadn't got to the _please do the hundred-metre dash _stage of the conversation yet."

"Well, she can learn," Jack said. "Just let yourself be a guy, Doctor. It's okay to want this."

"I know. I'm working on it."

He was now thinking of almost nothing but this upcoming phone call...

* * *

Three days of surveillance had got them nowhere. On the third day, Jack had called the hub and asked Gwen to deliver a vehicle to them in London so that he and the Doctor could take a test drive past the lamppost at ten past nine the following day. He also asked her to bring Rhys. All of the drivers had been heterosexual human males. He and Ianto and the Doctor didn't qualify – they needed new blood.

They made a rendez-vous point about a half mile from the lamppost, and the Doctor got in the passenger's seat while Jack climbed in the back, with Rhys at the wheel. They made sure he understood that there was a possibility that they might crash, and he was all right with it. They gave him instructions on where to drive, and they were off.

They were approaching the appropriate block, and it was nine after. Rhys made his way across the final intersection slowly and carefully, then said with a dreamy reverence, "Oh, dear Lord in Heaven." He was looking to his right.

The Doctor instinctively looked where he was looking, and said, "That's Morwenna!"

The goddess herself was coming down the front stairs of her flat. She had her earbuds in, and was wearing white spandex shorts with a green zip-up exercise top that exposed her perfectly-toned midriff and impressive décolletage. She was coming out for her morning jog, the creature of habit, at approximately ten past nine, and was _bouncing_ down the stairs, getting ready for take-off. It was a brisk, late-October morning, and the green zip-up top did little to contain the symptoms of the cold.

Eyes all over the vicinity, including three sets of eyes in that SUV, watched the curvy, silky-haired beauty obliviously pick up running. Anyone who watched her from behind had certain regrets about not seeing her jogging from the front, and vice versa.

All of this took place in a span of about five seconds. That interval of time came to an abrupt end when the SUV smashed into the lamppost, and the airbags deployed.

"Is everyone all right?" Rhys asked, feeling responsible, as the driver.

"Yep," the Doctor answered. "Jack?"

"Well," Jack said, catching his breath. "At least now you know she can run."

"I guess so."

"Oh, Cullen's going to be so disappointed that this is the cause," Jack commented. "I think he was hoping for something more sinister. I guess I was too - something rifty."

"Nope. The rift blob, or whatever it is, that's just a coincidence I guess," the Doctor said. "I thought I didn't believe in coincidence."

"This isn't sinister," Rhys said. "But it's plenty humiliating. No wonder no-one knew what was causing the accidents. None of the men wanted to admit why they crashed!"

"The woman's a menace," Jack said. "She's clearly a danger to her city. She must be taken off the streets of London, Doctor."

"I'll get on it immediately," the Doctor promised, with a bit of a song in his hearts.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Hope you didn't mind the red herring... :-)**


End file.
